‘Now,’ the woman said with a proper British accent, ‘the finger bowl arrives with dessert. But you don’t use it until after you’ve finished. You should gingerly grasp the bowl with both hands and place it beside the upper left edge of the dish. Then take the doily from the plate and fold it carefully.’
The girls giggled as they began to follow the instructions. Janet pinched her lips in imitation of a doughty matron.
‘Excuse me,’ Elaine said. She stormed past Gordon into the dining room.
‘Good morning, Elaine,’ Fein said, smiling. ‘Gordon! Trust you slept well.’ There was a pause. ‘Daryl,’ Fein said, nodding.
‘Just what is going on here?’ Elaine burst out.
‘Mr Fein’s teaching us what to do at a state dinner,’ Celeste said. She smiled broadly to affect the role of the gracious host. When she realized Elaine was furious, Celeste muttered ‘Mo-ther’ in a lilting voice — her lips curled in a frozen smile of decorum.
The dam of Elaine’s outrage held. Gordon could see her breathing deeply. Fein jumped in. ‘Elaine, this is Mrs Agnes Fillmore, formerly of the White House protocol office.’
‘How do you do, Mrs Davis?’ the woman said, smiling. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you. And I really must commend you. Your girls have truly impeccable manners.’
Janet cleared her throat and wiggled in her seat — her back now ramrod-straight. She raised her empty teacup to her lips. ‘Oh dear,’ Mrs Fillmore said with mock sadness in her voice. She tilted her head at Janet. ‘You really shouldn’t stick your pinky out like that. Backstairs manners and all.’
‘She was just playing,’ Elaine snarled. ‘She knows better than that.’
‘Of course she does,’ the ever-gracious woman said graciously.
Finally convinced that Elaine wouldn’t break the peace, Gordon said, ‘Arthur, I think we really ought to get down to business.’ He turned to clear a path to the door. Daryl stepped outside to make way.
Fein looked surprised. ‘Oh, all right.’ Turning to the girls at the table, he said with evident good humor, ‘I want to see you properly distinguish between the meat fork and the fish fork before you leave this table, young ladies.’ He winked as he passed Gordon on the way out.
Gordon closed the dining room door behind him. Fein stood beside Daryl. But there was nothing in Fein’s body language to indicate any acknowledgment whatsoever of Daryl’s presence. ‘What might I do for you, Gordon?’ Fein asked pleasantly.
Gordon’s mouth hung open before he finally blurted out, ‘The riots! We’ve got to… to jump on this. Marshall’s get-tough policies went too far.’ Gordon lowered his voice. ‘He stepped on his dick, and we should be all over him for it!’
Fein’s expression never changed. He blinked once or twice, but Gordon’s words seemed not to impress him in the least. ‘What’s Bristol’s position?’ Daryl asked — filling the silence. Fein looked at Daryl, then turned back to Gordon. ‘This is a difficult time for the nation,’ Fein said slowly. ‘Terrorists attacking government officials such as yourself, new dangers abroad, and now lawlessness on the streets of our cities. It’s as if anarchy is eating away at the fabric of society. At times like these, we must show strength,’ he lightly tapped his clenched fist into an open palm, ‘a resolve in the face of our enemies, foreign and domestic.’
It was a sound bite. Gordon got the distinct impression that he was to memorize the position statement verbatim. Were it not for the mocking roll of Daryl’s eyes, Gordon would have asked Fein to repeat the response… more slowly, this time.
The dining room door opened. Elaine emerged with a frown on her face as Mrs Fillmore was saying, ‘No, you push with your knife. You pile the food onto the fork. Never spear the meat like you’re harpooning a whale.’
Elaine closed the door behind her. Gordon eyed his wife cautiously. The fact that she had allowed Mrs Fillmore’s lesson to continue must only mean, Gordon thought, that she grudgingly accepted the woman’s abilities. ‘What’s going on? What’s the plan?’ Elaine asked, turning her attention — her need to act — back to the campaign. It was a good sign, Gordon thought. She was getting over the trauma of the attack.
‘I’ve taken the liberty,’ Fein said, ‘of jotting down a few notes.’ He handed Elaine a single, typewritten sheet. ‘I’m sorry for the delay, but Gordon’s selection came so suddenly that I only had time to focus on him. But I hope you’ll find those tips helpful.’
Elaine was reading the paper in silence.
Daryl was already smiling. ‘You wanna share some of those “tips” with us, Elaine?’ he asked.
After a few moments, she read in a wooden tone without looking up. ‘One. Control emotion. No tears or anger unless we talk first. Two. Eye make-up is most important. Go light on the lipstick. But don’t skimp on hairdressers or facials — once or twice per week. Three. Muted shades of clothing are better than sharp colors. Lots of soft blouses with long sleeves. Elegant scarves are good accessories. Four. In public, cross your ankles not your knees. No scratching, twitching or squirming. Better to…’ she swallowed and moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘Better to listen than to speak. Always look interested in what the other person is telling you. Be prepared for stupid questions. Five. Keep smiling and smiling and smiling, and if all else fails…’ she looked up, ‘smile.’
‘Well,’ Daryl said — satisfied. ‘Too bad you just missed the fine speech that was outlined for Gordon. It appears that “we” have foreign and domestic enemies.’ His voice oozed venom. ‘I know who those “domestic enemies” are. My only question is, who’s the “we” that Fein’s talking about?’
Fein’s eyes never left Gordon, who could also feel the heat of Daryl’s stare. Elaine appeared concerned as well, but her voice would be heard later. They would argue. He would defend Fein and the RNC and the campaign’s natural political decision to play hardball with the rioters. Behind closed doors, she would strike back. They would each move toward the other’s position until they were again reconciled.
She folded Fein’s notes neatly and held onto them.
Gordon looked over at Daryl. A fire burned in his eyes. Gordon could never reconcile himself with Daryl. He could never muster that level of anger.
Kate Dunn lay on the ground in the fetal position next to Woody. Her hands were clamped over her ringing ears. She’d never been so terrified in her life.
The night air around the small ditch in which they lay was filled with all manner of speeding projectiles. They whipped close by their unprotected bodies with vicious cutting sounds, or streaked through the dark sky overhead in burning trails. Cement chips flew off the concrete abutment against which they cowered. Kate realized in horror that the hulking armored vehicles which rumbled along the road above them were drawing and returning furious fire.
Her world exploded as flame shot over her from the long, thick barrel of a tank. She was afraid even to lift her head to follow the quickly passing main gun. She saw instead a brilliant flare of light erupt from the upper floor of a building. From it emerged the wiggling and fiery trail of a rocket. The missile quickly locked onto its course. But before she could tell where it was headed…